


Cinnamon Twist

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: Tony's God-Awful Senior Year [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boys Kissing, M/M, Pansexual Character, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m here for the ropes,” Tony spat a little more harshly than he intended to, “not for you, Barton.”</p><p>Clint just laughed, quickly turning and hopping up, holding himself upside down using the two ropes, his smiling face belying how difficult the move actually was. Tony cursed him twice to hell in his mind. “Don’t be such a grumpy Gus, Stark,” Clint replied. “Natasha and I are just having a bit of fun over here.”</p><p>“Fun is for athletes,” Tony replied as Clint flipped back upright, handing one rope to him, which Tony accepted. ”I’m just here to grab a stupid rope and get this over with.”</p><p>“Well then,” Barton replied, scrambling up his own rope again. “Climb, Stark, climb.”</p><p>Hawkiron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinnamon Twist

**Author's Note:**

> Hawkiron pairing. I said I would do these things. I AM DOING THE THINGS.
> 
> I never go back on my word. >.>
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy the next part of Tony's God-Awful Senior Year!

This wasn’t happening. Seriously. This wasn’t happening. Tony could close his eyes and open them again and this would be like any other Monday morning. It really would be.

Except he knew it wouldn’t be. Even as he squeezed his eyes closed for the third time and opened them once more, he knew he’d still feel the same way he did before. Because there was no denying at this point that he was indeed ogling Clint Barton as he hung upside-down from a rope, working his arms and beautifully sculpted abs, easily making a show of getting down from the damn thing. Natasha Romanov was his spotter, but she merely stood off to the side doing stretches, knowing very well that Clint didn’t need a spotter. Tony seemed to remember something about Clint being in a circus at one point, and he totally believed it now that he could see him in action.

He moved as if he was a liquid, curling his stomach as he pulled himself upright once more, his arms instantly slipping into the proper position. Clint slowly eased himself lower on the rope, and Tony couldn’t help but stare as he once more flipped upside down, holding himself to the rope using only his damn legs—wasn’t that physically impossible?—and crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes and looking at Natasha. Natasha didn’t even glance at him, but her gorgeous lips began moving, as if she could sense his presence simply out of instinct.

After Natasha finished straightening herself out, the pair began engaging in conversation, their voices too low to hear in the din of the noisy gym class. Natasha began teasingly pushing on the rope with both hands, her finely-toned arms easily handling Clint’s airborne weight as she swung him around.

Tony had to close his eyes and rub them with the heels of his hands to snap himself out of staring at them and their hypnotic unity, and when he opened them again, his gym partner, who was coincidentally Steve Motherfucking Rogers, was giving him a strange look.

“You okay, Tony?” he asked, having just finished prepping himself to jump over the pommel horse for roughly the fiftieth time in a row. Tony knew just from looking at Steve that, as a skilled athlete whose abilities bordered on “world-class,” his favorite part of the gymnastics unit of class was jumping the damn horse.

Tony turned to face Steve fully, rubbing his temples, trying not to imagine what could be underneath Clint’s tight T-shirt. “Yeah, just make the damn jump, Rogers.” His voice was a bit snappy, but he didn’t want to think about the reason why.

Steve nodded, obliging his request quite quickly. Tony watched as he switched into his athletic mode, his eyes narrowing, his body easing down into a runner’s crouch before staring at a sprint, throwing his arms in front of him and clearing the damn horse by a mile, his legs spreading perfectly. Tony refused to acknowledge that the view from behind was spectacular, Steve’s ass looking absolutely perfect as he did a split in the air.

“Fucking gym class,” he murmured, scraping at his eyebrows with his fingertips. This week was going to be hell, he could tell.

“Your turn,” Steve called from the other side, doing a few more stretches to keep limber. He looked absolutely delighted with himself, flushed and grinning perfectly, as if he’d just won the damn lottery or something. Tony envied his carefreeness.

“You know I can’t jump this damn thing to save my life,” Tony called back, moving forward and stepping onto the mat, deciding to study the apparatus rather than try to jump over it. It was pretty big, actually, now that he was close to it. He didn’t think, even with all the momentum he could gather by sprinting at it, that he could actually clear it. He was a good few inches shorter than Steve, and that made all the difference. Even if he could jump well, he still didn’t think he’d be able to get over without any problems. Plus, the thing was rickety as hell. He pushed it lightly with his foot, surprised to hear a small metal squeak. He looked up at Steve incredulously, who was still stretching but watching him with a curious look on his face. “You trust this fucking thing? It’s two minutes from breaking down!”

“You’re being overdramatic, Tony,” Steve replied, jogging in place. Tony grunted noncommittally and looked back down at it, imagining how he could reinforce the structure using an iron rod. He could add some hydraulics in there, too, to make it harder to jump, like a challenger in a boxing ring or something. Make it more like trying to avoid an attacker than just jumping over a bar. Maybe it could push up as you were running at it. Could he program an AI that could decide whether or not to go into an “attack” mode? Yes, he could, but the real question was how **long** programming such an AI would take. That would actually be the longest part of the project, if he did everything including the hydraulics. Hydraulics were old hat to him by now. The diving board at his house was proof of that.

“Is there a problem here?” Coulson asked, and Tony looked over to their gym teacher’s benevolent face. He hadn’t heard him approach, a scarily eerie thing that he happened to do literally all the time, but Tony sort of expected it by now. Coulson didn’t look concerned, but he didn’t look indifferent, either. Coulson had this strangely indescribable default expression that unnerved Tony.

“Just trying to improve your dying equipment,” Tony replied, giving it another tap with his foot. The same squeak sounded out, and Tony gave Coulson a weathered look. “Seriously. This shouldn’t be squeaking. Steve’s been beating this thing up and trusting it to carry his weight. He could take a serious spill if it breaks.”

“It’s always squeaked, Stark,” Coulson replied, his voice switching to the long-suffering patient tone that he took when speaking to Tony. “Nobody’s died yet.”

Tony raised a finger to go with his raised eyebrows. “’Yet’ is the key word there,” he replied, going back to looking at it.

“Maybe you shouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure you haven’t gone through all the obstacles yet, Stark, so why don’t you do that?”

“All I have left to do is the ropes,” Tony replied sullenly, knowing full well Clint and Natasha hadn’t left them yet.

“Then you ought to do those. Leave the poor pommel horse alone.”

“Fine,” he snapped, stepping down from the mat and heading over, not looking back at Steve, who was no doubt waving at him and engaging Coulson in a conversation about athletics or something. Tony was well aware of how much Coulson geeked out over his best student. Steve Rogers was like a soldier, ready to take on any obstacle or challenged placed in front of him. It made sense that Coulson, the gym teacher and coach, would take such a liking to him. It was borderline crushing on his student, though, and Tony couldn’t stand how Steve just ignored it. How Steve was so **able** to ignore it. Why couldn’t Tony just take his example and forget how he thought about everyone else?

“Stark!” a voice called, and Tony groaned, staring at his shoes as he moved toward the ropes. A solid weight thumped on the ground in front of him, and he finally looked up, relieved that Barton had finally decided to grace the ground again. He was holding the two ropes with his hands, looking absolutely elated, and Tony knew that the ropes were his favorite part of gymnastics. He had a hunch that Clint had a thing for heights that Tony didn’t really share. “I was wondering when you’d come my way.”

“I’m here for the ropes,” Tony spat a little more harshly than he intended to, “not for you, Barton.”

Clint just laughed, quickly turning and hopping up, holding himself upside down using the two ropes, his smiling face belying how difficult the move actually was. Tony cursed him twice to hell in his mind. “Don’t be such a grumpy Gus, Stark,” Clint replied. “Natasha and I are just having a bit of fun over here.”

“Fun is for athletes,” Tony replied as Clint flipped back upright, handing one rope to him, which Tony accepted. ”I’m just here to grab a stupid rope and get this over with.”

“Well then,” Barton replied, scrambling up his own rope again. “Climb, Stark, climb.”

Tony did so. He took the rope in his hands and, not glancing at Clint’s gleeful grin or the floor, climbed. It happened better than he expected it to; his body was strangely cooperative, his arms languid and his grip sure. His legs easily grasped the rope between them as he climbed up, and easily supported his weight as he came back down. After climbing back down a ways, he finally jumped down to the floor, landing pretty smoothly with only a little bounce to his step. He stood there for a moment, quite surprised at the ease with which he managed to surpass the challenge. A slight feeling of euphoria followed after— _endorphins being released in the brain due to exercise and success_ —and he wondered if this is what Steve felt like after he jumped the pommel horse or successfully ran a mile in four and a half minutes (an impressive feat, and one that Tony grudgingly admires).

“Well, well, well,” a voice said from behind him, and Tony jumped a little, turning to face Clint with narrowed eyes and an untrusting frown. Clint was just smiling, upside down again, his arms crossed as he was earlier with Natasha. “Someone’s clearly hiding something from me.”

The bell rang, but Tony paid it no mind. His next class was with Mr. Selvig, who was pretty forgiving considering he was pretty fucking good at science. “What the hell are you talking about, Barton?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“You seemed to handle the ropes pretty well,” Clint replied, swinging back and forth absentmindedly on the rope, and Tony tried not to let his eyes stray to the subtle motions of his stomach as he did so. “You clearly are an athlete, Tony. So why don’t you tell me what you do now before I have to weasel it out of you?”

Tony looked around the gym. It was empty, Coulson having run to his office or followed Steve through a conversation or something. Natasha had obviously left to get changed. That just left Tony and Clint. Tony grinned, looking back at Clint. “You don’t have any backup here, Barton. I doubt very seriously you could weasel anything out of me alone.”

Clint’s arms were still crossed, but he pouted, and Tony didn’t want to think it was adorable, but it was. “You don’t find me intimidating at all?”

Tony shook his head. “Not in the slightest,” he replied.

Clint moved a hand to touch his chest. “I’m hurt,” he said, his voice wavering theatrically. Tony now knew why he got away with so many dangerous stunts on the ropes; he killed Coulson with his stupidly theatrical disappointment.

“You’ll live,” Tony replied, glancing at the clock. He could actually still make it if he rushed his changing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a science class to own.” And with that, he turned to leave, and would have left, had a hand not snagged his own and pulled him back. He turned, spinning slightly on his heel, and would have stumbled had Clint’s other hand not wrapped gently around the back of his neck to hold him in place.

“I saw you watching me,” Clint said, his voice suddenly husky, his eyes strangely bright, and Tony felt a thrill of fear roll through him.

“Not a voyeur,” Tony replied hastily, unsure if he should run or see this through. It would certainly be worth just sticking around, considering how much insight it could give him. Then, maybe, he could figure out exactly what was going on with himself.

“Never said you were,” Clint replied, snapping Tony out of his thoughts, and Tony looked him in the eye. Clint licked his lips, and Tony watched his tongue flick away, suddenly breathing more heavily than he remembered breathing. Perhaps the rope climbing had actually winded him.

“You have a nice body,” Tony said, giving a light shrug, finding some comfort in shameless flirting. “Couldn’t help myself. Sorry.”

“Hmm,” Clint hummed, tilting his head to the right, looking almost birdlike in his method of observation. Then, his eyes raked up and down Tony’s own form, making him slightly squirm. His breath left him in one swift exhale. Clint met his eyes again, the light still there, but it had taken on a different hue. Tony could smell danger in the air. Clint’s hands still hadn’t left his body, warming the places they touched. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Am I now?” Tony asked, feeling himself leaning closer to Clint. Clint’s pupils were wide.

“Yeah,” he said softly, and then he pulled Tony close, their lips closing together. They kissed, Clint’s hand sliding under the back of Tony’s shirt collar, his other hand moving to press against Tony’s chest. Tony grasped his hair with both hands, tugging on it gently as Clint licked into his mouth. Oh, God, how had Tony been reluctant to try this, exactly? This was really nice, actually.

After a moment, they slowed and parted, their breaths mingling in between them.

“I’m a boxer,” Tony breathed, feeling rather lightheaded and breathless.

“I kinda figured,” Clint replied, and he released Tony, his hand sliding out from under Tony’s collar. Tony shivered slightly at the loss of warmth. Clint eased himself down off the rope and upright again, landing with ease from his upside-down position. He looked at Tony intently, his gaze trailing over Tony’s body once more before he gave a wicked smile. “You should be expecting us.”

Tony nodded, but suddenly his brows furrowed. Before he could ask who exactly “us” meant, Clint had already sprinted away, disappearing from view. The second bell rang, which meant Tony was late for class, standing there stupidly in his gym clothes with an expression that read “thoroughly kissed” for all the world to see.

“Awwh, fuck it,” he yelled into the emptiness. “Why can’t this just be fucking easy?” With that, he shook himself slightly and, patting down his hair in case it had been ruined, he sprinted to the locker room. He had to change quickly, fix himself up so he didn’t look like he’d just had his mind completely blown by an acrobat, and then get to class on the double. He had to tell Bruce about this.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


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